


quoting things you've never read

by jockohomo



Series: extensions [7]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Closeted Character, F/M, Online Dating, Self-Pity, Trans Female Character, almost more of a mido character study than anything tbh, idk what else to tag this as. i know it sounds like a crack ship but it isn't really??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 12:24:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20907629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jockohomo/pseuds/jockohomo
Summary: Mido indulges in a dating app. Results are mixed.





	quoting things you've never read

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teethrotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethrotter/gifts).

> happy birthday, dallas! i hope this fic lives up to your momi origin story expectations. 
> 
> set in an AU where 6/8 of the yotsubas live, as are the rest of the disjointed fics in this series. this ship might not make sense to the majority of people, but i do not care.
> 
> the only warnings i can think of here are for light alcohol use and some sexual references, as well as a bit of internalized transphobia/homophobia from mido's end. mido is trans but closeted; she presents as a man to almost everyone, mogi included.

Mido Ayame’s house was a menagerie of the deceased. From the hawk perched in her sitting room to the bobcat displayed in her living room to the deer head mounted on her dining room, every creature in the dwelling was cold and full of stuffing.

The same was true of Mido, her and her poorly animated limbs. She was doll-like in her existence, pale and soft and containing nothing of substance or value, but that was far more palatable than trying and failing to be of worth. She was glassy-eyed and decorated and perhaps a bit more childish than she let on; but then, Mido was a lot of things that she didn’t let on. It felt too pathetic to add _ lonely _ to that list; and Mido privately reveled in self-deprecation, but only when she could find tragedy in it, only as an excuse to mourn herself. _ Pathetic _ was a qualifier that she shied away from because there was no ego to it — but the word was more true than not. Mido Ayame, in her cavalcade of hollow creatures, was utterly lonely.

Hawks courted through elaborate dives and acrobatic flights; bobcats could mate up to sixteen times a day; male deers famously competed for their quarries by clashing their antlers against that of their competitors. Humans, as a positive, needed to do nothing so physically strenuous; but then, humans generally also needed to have some _ personality _ in order to court successfully, and there were few things more difficult than having a personality.

_ “I already told you, Suguru, I don’t think this will work,” she had sighed at her companion from her position on the sofa. “It’s not like I have anything to put here.” _

_ Shimura had rested a forearm on the back of the couch and shifted to peer down at her phone screen. His eyebrows were pulled together thoughtfully, and it made him look almost sad. “But I’m sure you do,” he insisted. “You have lots of good traits.” _

_ “Give me a list, then.” _

_ Shimura had paused long enough to circumnavigate the piece of furniture and seat himself next to her. “Well,” he started thoughtfully, “you’re a wonderful person. I guess that isn’t specific enough? You’re … you’re genuine, and kind, and caring, and funny, and intelligent, and — and, you know, you’ve been such a positive influence on my life. Are those too general? Sorry, I can — ” _

_ “I think,” Mido said, cutting him pointedly off, “I’ll just come up with something witty.” _

She was proud of the end result, despite herself; she had decided what sort of persona she would conjure up for the purposes of her romantic life, and, in truth, it wasn’t too far off from the one her coworkers knew. The coworkers she cared enough to talk to, that was.

_ if you’re so clever, then why are you on your own tonight? ;)_, it read. It was a jab, but Shimura would be pleased if he knew, she imagined.

She didn’t use it for a while, though — not at first. Making the thing had been difficult enough, but she was even more apprehensive about using it, and with Shimura around, she at least had enough company to keep her preoccupied. She supposed he was her only real friend, but the inverse was not true; Shimura had Takahashi, too, regardless of how far they were straying past the barrier of friendship. It made her stomach boil at times, and it made it twist at others, but she was learning to keep her mouth shut about that.

She learned to keep her mouth shut, and this is what it got her; they went on vacation together. They went on a picturesque little trip to the beach with Takahashi’s daughter upon her return from university, leaving Mido alone with her thoughts and her still life zoo. She told herself that she wasn’t jealous; she told herself that she disliked Takahashi because he was a bumbling fool, not because he was the one thing keeping Shimura from spending all his time and affections on her. She told herself that, and it worked, to some extent.

But after a day, it was still gnawing at her. After two days, it had sharpened. After three, she felt naked.

The obvious solution was to find someone to drown her thoughts in, since her alcohol cabinet was proving insufficient. She remembered Namikawa, fleetingly, but the thought of relapsing into his bed was revolting — and besides, he didn’t talk to her anymore, not since she had slapped him across his smug cheek, stained that flawless porcelain and carried herself home for once. Making a venture into a more social venue was out of the question, as well. 

So Mido settled. She picked up her phone. Her first interaction went as such:

> The smiths, huh? I like it.

idk them lol <

He blocked her after that.

The next several interactions were similarly fruitless; Mido figured that she could afford to be picky, even if the belief was one she couldn’t justify. Maybe she just wasn’t drunk enough.

It was just as she was lying there, half-dressed, tired and bared of her glasses and kept away from the bottles in her kitchen only by her reluctance to stand, someone caught her eye. His name was Kanzo and he was thirty-nine — just a year behind her, then — and very attractive and honestly, she hardly bothered to read his profile because god he was _ hot_. He was _ very _ hot and really, what else mattered? He was dressed modestly, too, awfully modestly, but then, she had a good eye for these things, and it wasn’t like she was in her underwear in any of _ her _ pictures, either.

She would be coy, though. Mido would wait for him to send the first message and then she’d be witty and sarcastic enough to charm him — even though “charming” was hardly the first word she’d use to describe herself — and that would be that. 

Two minutes passed. He didn’t say anything — he might not have even been online. She cracked and sent the first message.

you’re hot. come over? <

She was really contemplating getting up and pouring herself a glass.

> Would mine be okay?

sure. <  
but you’ll have to tell me how to get there first, you know. <

> I will. Is tomorrow alright?

yeah ok. busy tonight? <

> No. I just need some time to prepare.

enticing. <

Oh, the question of what exactly he was planning was a compelling one to be sure — the fact that it required _ preparation _ had her particularly intrigued. She was surprised, though, when she pushed on with smalltalk because if his initial statement had implied something explicit, the rest of his dialogue certainly didn’t. In fact, he seemed downright _ decent_; he was a cop, apparently, and she couldn’t exactly say she was a fan of that, even if she did take the opportunity to make a joke about handcuffing. Unlike the rest of the men she had talked to so far, he seemed utterly uninterested in talking about himself otherwise, which she supposed was a good quality, even if she wasn’t exactly eager to share the details of her private life either. 

_ Kanzo_. He seemed familiar — his face did, the clothes he wore in his pictures did — but she couldn’t put a finger on where from.

you know, you look kind of familiar. have i seen you before? <  
in my dreams, maybe? <

> Haha.  
> Cute.

Reading people over text was a challenge, even for Mido — maybe _ that _ was why she was so nervous when she pulled into his driveway the next evening. If she was able to present as she wished, she might have worn something more feminine; but he hardly knew her, certainly not well enough for that, so she donned a vest and tie. She was still hoping to get masticated by the end of the night, but she could at least make a show of _ seeming _ like she deserved her status.

His house was just that — a house. It was perfectly normal as far as she could tell, with its gray bricks and its slanting roof and its fenced-in yard, and she was reminded of what Shimura’s had looked like before he had moved out. If Shimura, after all, could rise above exterior appearances, then she could afford to set her judgement aside for another man. This one seemed attractive enough to be worth it.

The smell of food — a lot of food, a lot of _ well-seasoned _ food — hit her as soon as she passed the threshold into Kanzo’s house.

“Nice to meet you, Shingo,” he said, with a voice far softer than she had expected. 

She bit her tongue. “My family name is Mido — I don’t suppose you mind?”

If the request seemed strange to him, it was within Kanzo’s good graces not to mention it. 

Speaking of good graces, he apparently had a _ lot_.

Mido was maybe just a little bit tipsy. The dinner that Kanzo had prepared, strangely enough, didn’t include alcohol, but she had had a drink or two before coming over to quell her nerves — which, oddly enough, left her feeling just as nervous as before and even more emotional. Emotional enough for it to hit her just how _ nice _ this all was. It was very nice, it was _ too _ nice — why, it was outright _ generous_. Here she was, some alcoholic businesswoman masquerading as a man, depressed and selfish and petty and murderous, and there he was, with his four course meal and his gentle mannerisms, some sort of pinnacle of noble chivalry, sitting before her like an angelic, musclebound wet dream. She was perverse and she was a liar, and the man across from her had gone out of his way to make this grand romantic gesture for some old, almost-humorous fairy he hardly knew. It was pathetic. _ She _ was pathetic.

Kanzo was a cop; he certainly wasn’t a picture of innocence, she knew that much. Neither was Mido. She had killed people, too; all the men she had killed had been innocent — and still, the faults she found with herself were almost entirely detached from the blood on her hands. Wasn’t that alone enough to be sickening? 

Suddenly, _ she _ felt sick — not quite nauseous, but her throat was closing up and her eyes were stinging and half-way through dinner, through some pleasant talk about a book they had both read before, Mido stood abruptly. Her chair scraped over the hardwood flooring.

“Excuse me, I need to use your restroom,” she blurted. Luckily, it had been in sight from where she entered the building, and she made quick work of finding it once more.

Mido pushed her back against the door as soon as she had locked it and buried her face in her hands. God, she felt _ horrible_, and she knew very well that she had no right to. After all the work he had so obviously poured into this, she was locked away in his bathroom, sobbing through her fingers like some sort of hysterical child. It wasn’t as if she disliked him, either, or found him uncomfortable — to the contrary, she had immediately taken a shine to him, and that only made it more of a crime. But then, this all was a crime, wasn’t it? For someone like her to be here, sitting and smiling and talking with a man who seemed to both be decent and enjoy her company — it was a crime. 

_ You sound like Suguru, _ some part of her whispered. Her fists clenched.

She was all too aware of the movements of her body when she emerged from the bathroom, tense and ashamed and with her eyes trained half-heartedly down to the floor. She couldn’t help but wonder how he would react — whether he’d be angry or disappointed, whether he’d admonish her or send her home. 

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t. 

Kanzo wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. It was almost funny, since it was hardly cold in his house, but the gesture touched her nonetheless. Mido glanced up at him.

“I’m sorry for all this.” Her voice came out wispily. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s nothing you did — I suppose I’m just…” She was too unsure to continue.

“It’s okay,” he replied quietly, firmly, before Mido had the chance to amend her statement. “Are you alright?”

“Me? Oh, of course. I mean, it’s all a part of my allure.” She tried for a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sorry. Really, I … I’m not sure what happened.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted. “Do you need anything?”

“No. No, I … I suppose I should be getting home.” Mido sighed. “Want your jacket back?”

“I just gave it to you.”

“So — ”

“Keep it.”

Mido blinked dumbfoundedly up at him for a moment before offering a slight nod back in response. Her eyes felt very wide, and she wasn’t sure why her hands were shaking.

_ What the hell is going on with me tonight? _

Kanzo walked her all the way to the door, hand pressed comfortingly to her shoulder, and it was all she could do not to give in to another fit of emotion. God, he smelled nice. He _ felt _ nice. She had been convinced that she had gone and ruined the evening, but somehow, he didn’t seem upset. He just seemed _ concerned_, more than anything. 

“Are you sure you’re alright to drive?” he asked when they reached the door.

“Yeah,” Mido mumbled, pulling his jacket closer in spite of herself. “I’m not drunk, you know. I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll text you soon. Let me know that you got home alright.”

“Of course.” She was still surprised that he wasn’t entirely disinterested in her by now, but whatever — if he was still pursuing her after whatever the hell sort of show she had put on tonight, he must be made of tougher stuff. 

He gave her shoulder a slight, almost imperceptible squeeze as she stepped down the first step to his yard. “Have a nice night.”

“Yeah, you too. Thanks for … for all this. It was very nice. And sorry, again.”

“It’s okay, Mido.”

She paused as soon as her shoes meet the sidewalk and turned briefly back to face him. “You know, I don’t think I ever caught your family name.”

“It’s Mogi.”

“Mogi. Thank you.”

Mido Ayame didn’t smile much, especially not when she had been crying minutes before, but she obliged this once as she took the walk to her car.

_ Mogi and Mido, huh. Has a funny ring to it. _

**Author's Note:**

> if it makes you feel any better, mido comes out to mogi after they've been dating for a bit and he's very supportive because he's valid like that. writing music was 'young folks' by peter bjorn and john.
> 
> https://sugurushimura.tumblr.com/


End file.
